The Hardest Truth
by ghettopeach
Summary: Phineas Lovegood reflects on his wife's death, and on what to tell his daughter Luna about it.


A/N: This is from Phineas Lovegood's point of view after his wife Alcina (Luna's mother) dies. (See Book 5.) The names Phineas and Alcina are not canon; as J.K. Rowling did not see fit to give Luna's parents first names at present, I made some up. I don't own these characters, but they seemed neglected, so I thought I'd give them some attention. Also, Phineas took over my brain.

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I was upstairs when I heard the explosion. I ran downstairs to find Alcina sprawled on the floor in the lab, her neck and limbs all askew at geometrically awkward angles. Luna stood in the corner, her eyes wide, just watching. When she asked me what was happening, I wanted to fire the question back at her. Hadn't she seen? Wouldn't she have a better idea than I would? But of course Luna lacked the context to make the circumstances clear to her. It was her last bit of innocence, of childhood, and it fell to me to disillusion her, to rip away the tapestry that covers life's ugliness.

It wasn't fair. She shouldn't have to confront the worst aspect of existence at just nine years old. She was so young. Even more mature witches and wizards had to be coaxed and cajoled into admitting that there might be more to life than they could understand. And that was in matters of draconic lore, not death. I had to open my daughter's eyes, not to possibility, but to the ultimate and unavoidable Impossibility.

For a moment, I wished I could lie, as other people seemed to do so easily. I wished I could discard the truth or spin it into a palatable story. I wished I could turn back time, practice necromancy, or create the Philosopher's Stone. But I couldn't. My greatest magic was the ability to speak plainly, and I could no more hide or avoid the truth than I could will myself to stop breathing. That day, honesty cost me more than I ever hoped to pay.

"Your mother's dead."

"What do you mean?" Luna asked, looking up at me. Her eyes held nothing but analytical curiosity, as though she were asking why the sky was blue or how magic worked or where werewolves came from. She looked back down at Alcina, and a worried look appeared on her face. "I know she's hurt, but she'll come to in a minute. This happens sometimes."

"No—Luna, I'm sorry, but the damage is too severe." I felt myself aging as I spoke, sadness marking itself in creases on my face. My hand hovered over my wife's face. "She—she isn't breathing at all. And here." I clasped Luna's small, warm hand and placed her fingers against Alcina's cold neck. "You feel that? She has no pulse—her heart isn't beating at all."

Tears filled Luna's eyes. "So she isn't going to wake up?"

"No." I swallowed and pulled Luna into my arms. "She was working with very powerful magic, more magic than our bodies are able to handle if something goes wrong. And something did go wrong, although I don't know what…" I pulled Alcina's spellbook and research journals off the desk and began flipping through them. Luna looked down at the pages, underlining the words with her finger. A few tears dripped down and crinkled the paper.

Maybe I had said too much, given her more information than she could handle. But no—she needed the truth. She had to have all the evidence in front of her in order to dispel her doubts and eliminate any flawed assumptions. Or maybe I was confusing her with me.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Luna?"

"Where did Mum go?"

"Well, there are a lot of possibilities," I said. "No one really fully understands what happens after death, and oftentimes it's different for certain people depending on the circumstances. I have several good books down in the library—Mungo Mulvaney's _Beyond the Veil _is particularly interesting, although he has very strong critics…"

"But she isn't _here _anymore, is she?"

"No," I said. Was there anything else for me to say? I was growing tired of the word, which seemed to exact a toll on my energy every time I uttered it. No, I don't know what's happened. No, I can't do anything about it. No, there's nothing I can say to make this better. No. No. No.

Alcina should have been the one to do this. She would have had the fire, the strength of will to stand in the face of death and deny its power. I could only yield. I could only offer useless apologies and a bumbling sort of love that was too intellectual and impractical to do any real good. Luna deserved better than me. She always had. But now I was all she had left, so for her sake, I had to become more than I was capable of being.

"No, she isn't here anymore," I said, hugging Luna tightly to my chest. "But I am, and you are… and I suppose we'll have to make do."

In that room where the scent of death still lingered, my daughter and I held each other and cried.


End file.
